To Hell and Back
by Zedek
Summary: A rip-roaring story that follows the Doomguy on his lone battle through the hordes of hell-spawn on Phobos, Deimos, and finally Hell itself. Equipped with only a pistol and knuckledusters, will the badass space marine make it through, or will he succumb to the demons? (Based on the original game. Also published on Wattpad under the name Zedekk.)
1. Flynn Taggart

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own Doom or any of its characters. Doom is a product of Id software.

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 **To Hell and Back**

 **1\. Flynn Taggart**

 _Flynn Taggart staggered inside through the glass doors, clutching at his chest. Instantly all conversation died down and a hush fell over the room. All eyes were glued to the newcomer, who wore nothing over his chest but a battered green combat vest that went down to his knees and over his pants. It looked like it had seen more than its fair share of hell-spawn._

 _His midriff, which bore two deep red gashes, was visible through the gap in his armor. You could barely make out his rippling, well-defined muscles through all the blood. His left arm carried a worn-out chaingun that was still smoking slightly, and he walked with a pronounced limp. Two dusty charcoal-black army boots and a helmet completed his outfit. The helmet was so riddled with bullet holes and covered with dust and grime that it bore almost no resemblance to its original white shade._

 _Flynn's face was visible through the chipped visor on the front of his helmet. A streak of blood ran down from his close-cropped brown hair to his cheek, and his face bore an expression of utter exhaustion. Despite that, his sky-blue eyes burned with a strength of purpose and ferocity that startled all onlookers._

 _"_ _You look like you've been to Hell and back, Sarge," observed a lanky Marine, breaking the awed silence._

 _It was a while before he answered. "Trust me, you have no idea," he groaned in reply, setting himself down gingerly on a chair. His voice was hoarse from lack of use._

 _"_ _You have no idea."_

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 **Author's Note:** So, how did you like it? This is just an excerpt from a later chapter to introduce the protagonist, Flynn Taggart, a.k.a. Doomguy. Another chapter coming along in a few days - stay tuned! Also, please review - your comments are greatly appreciated!  
\- Zedek


	2. A Day in the Life of a UAAF Marine

****DISCLAIMER:** ** I do not own Doom or any of its characters. Doom is a product of Id software.

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 **2.** **A Day in the Life of a UAAF Marine**

 ** _Mars_**  
 ** _Union Aerospace Corporation (UAC) Research and Waste Disposal Facility_**  
 ** _Union Aerospace Armed Forces (UAAF) Complex_**  
 ** _Marine Barracks_**

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

The shrill sound of a buzzing alarm cut through the barracks. Flynn Taggart swung himself out of bed with a groan, stretching himself and running a hand through his short brown hair. He squinted at the alarm clock that lay on the nearby table, trying to make out the time. 7:30 AM.

He sat there blearily for a minute, blinked twice, then stood and went to brush and wash up. The other Marines were also stirring.

Flynn proceeded to dress himself in standard UAAF clothing – a plain brown tee with the UAAF logo stamped on the top right and khaki pants. A slim leather belt went over his pants. The Marines had a uniform, but no one wore it, down from the grunts up to the officers. It was cumbersome and uncomfortable to wear, and besides, the Marines were the only living things in the fifty million miles of Mars' surface area.

During the construction of the Mars base, engineers were busy in constructing a colossal glass dome that covered the entire region – not just the UAAF complex, but the whole UAC facility as well. It spanned several kilometers and was over 500 meters above their heads. The first time Flynn looked at it, his eyes nearly popped out of his head. He was dumbstruck at the sheer size of the dome. The reason the dome was erected was twofold. Firstly, Mars' atmosphere was 95% carbon dioxide and contained only trace amounts of oxygen, so it was impossible to breathe in. Secondly, Mars' pressure was considerably smaller than that of the Earth, and humans couldn't survive at such low pressures - even the nitrogen in their bloodstreams would start to bubble and cause them immense pain.

Flynn absentmindedly picked up his helmet and rolled it between his hands, only to put it back down, remembering that he didn't need it after the completion of the dome. Some clever clogs at UAC invented this special helmet and suit for humans to survive while the dome was being made. The helmet was actually a combat helmet retrofitted to somehow convert carbon dioxide to oxygen. Flynn never really understood how it worked, and never cared to. It worked, and he was satisfied with that. The technicians took the suits back after the dome was done, but allowed the Marines to keep the helmets.

The helmet also contained a HUD – a heads-up display – that was toggled on as soon as anyone wore the helmet. The HUD took full-body scans of the user and displayed how much stamina they had left and how healthy and strong they were. The only drawback was that anyone breathing through the helmet sounded like Darth Vader.

After lacing up his boots, Flynn stepped outside the barracks and glanced upwards. The sun was just out, shining brightly. Mars' two moons, Phobos and Deimos, were visible in the sky above him, hanging there like apples on a tree. They were not much smaller than the Earth's moon and were visible during both day and night on Mars.

The UAAF complex lay sprawled in front of Flynn. The buildings were all made of steel and glass, and twisted high towards the heavens. The barracks were at the top of a short hill, which gave him a great view. He could see the entire expanse of their complex, and he could spot parts of the UAC facility jutting out behind the buildings. The UAC facility was so expansive that the huge spaceport was merely a shimmering dot on the horizon from where Flynn stood. He thought he make out a glittering spaceship taking off, but he couldn't be sure.

Stifling a yawn, he started to walk towards the MSEC, a large spiraling building located in the middle of the complex. _MSEC_ , thought Flynn to himself, snorting. _What a name_. MSEC stood for 'Marine Skill Enhancement Center', a name all of the Marines poked fun at. Much to the officers' annoyance, the Marines simply called it the fitness club. There were several floors, though the upper ones were under renovation. Only the ground floor was currently functional. The doors shot open as he came near, and he walked inside to find himself in a large air-conditioned room.

The room was filled with the clamorous din of several dozen Marines engaged in various activities: hand-to-hand combat, target practice, weapon field-stripping, wrestling, knife fighting - you name it, they were doing it. One Marine was even practicing with a bow and arrow just for the heck of it. The MSEC also functioned as a gym, and Marines practiced all kinds of bodybuilding and strengthening exercises - push-ups, pull-ups, sit-ups, weightlifting, hammer curls, crunches, and the like.

Flynn went ahead with his usual workout - half an hour stretching and jogging on the treadmill to warm up, followed by an hour and a half of bench pressing, pull-ups and a number of other exercises. He then usually made his way to the target practice zone and emptied a few magazines.

He removed his shirt, revealing his well-developed muscles and toned body underneath. Without further ado, Flynn began his workout. Two hours later, profusely dripping with sweat, he emerged with a towel wrapped around his neck and a water bottle in his hand. After heading to the showers for a quick bath, he slipped his shirt back on and went to the target practice segment, which was located behind a set of soundproof doors.

Slipping on a pair of noise-cancelling headphones, Flynn picked up a gun - an assault rifle - from a large pile and proceeded to the shooting area. The paper target was already ready. Pressing the butt of the rifle against his shoulder, Flynn peered through the sights and took careful aim. Then he loosed three shots in quick succession. Two of them hit the target's chest and one pierced the target dead center - hitting the heart. He continued in this way, firing bullet after bullet, until three empty box magazines were piled up next to me. He hit the button that called the paper target towards him. After making a quick examination, Flynn pronounced himself satisfied and exited the area, removing his headphones and rifle as he did.

Walking out of the MSEC, he headed towards the next building - the canteen. He quickened his pace. His stomach was rumbling hungrily - his workout made him ravenously hungry - and Flynn grabbed a metal plate from a table and went up to the counter, where the smell of food wafted tantalizingly in his direction.

This was one of the few perks of being in the UAAF - delicious food. General Cage was in charge of setting up the Marine division. He insisted on decent, tasty food being served rather than the usual muck that they serve in army mess halls; insisting that it would raise the troops' morale. He got his way, but he didn't do it for the troops. Everyone knew that the only reason Cage said that was because the UAC had a special rule - everyone ate the same meal, regardless of rank or position as it saved time when cooking. And Cage wanted good food for himself (he was stuck on Mars as well). Nonetheless, Flynn wasn't about to complain.

Muttering a silent prayer of thanks to the good General, he loaded his plate up an assortment of food and grabbed a glass of milk on his way to the tables. He sat down and started to wolf down his meal, thinking about nothing in particular. Just then, two other Marines, Kane and Johnson, turned up and joined Flynn at his table.

"Taggart," said Kane by way of greeting, inclining his head towards him. Johnson flashed him a quick smile.

"Kane, Johnson," replied Flynn, giving them both a curt nod. Johnson returned the nod. As you can guess, Flynn wasn't much of a _social_ person. He preferred cutting people down to conversing with them.

The other two talked and chatted at great length, sometimes laughing uproariously, but Flynn just ignored them completely. Finishing his meal, he rose up - the other two were barely half done - and deposited his plate, then walked out of the canteen, feeling replete and at ease. Flynn squinted at the sky. It was barely afternoon. He sauntered around the complex aimlessly for half an hour, whistling a somewhat doleful melody, then made his way towards the recreation room.

The rec room was actually converted from a spacious old barrack, and a couple of industrious Marines somehow managed to procure a television set and an old VCR and some movies. A musty, faded stack of paperbacks sat forlornly in the corner, though no one really knew how those ended up there. Metal fold-up chairs were strewn across the room and the floor bore scratch marks from when the chairs had been dragged.

Everyday, by mid-afternoon, most Marines were gathered in the rec room. Some Marines didn't even work out in the mornings and just sat cross-legged on the floor of the rec room all day. Who could blame them? There was practically nothing else to do in the whole complex - or actually the whole planet. And besides, the UAAF was nothing like your typical army - there weren't really any 'rules' regarding what the Marines had to do every day. There was nothing that they really had to protect; or, more accurately, there wasn't anything that the Marines had to protect the complex _from_. Still, most Marines worked out regularly and were fit and healthy - Flynn included, obviously.

Today was no different. Some forty or fifty Marines were present - it was a big room - and some ancient action flick was running, featuring a dashing blond hero who fought through hordes of evil gun-wielding Nazis. _Utter drivel_ _,_ thought Flynn. But still he sat and watched along with the others. What else could he do? Flynn frittered away the rest of the day like that, watching movies and exchanging stories with the other Marines.

As Flynn lay down in bed at night, he reflected at length about life on the dusty, lifeless planet that he was on. _What a dull life we_ _lead,_ he grumbled. _Eat, work out, kick back and relax, sleep, then start all over again. I miss the Earth._ Punching his pillow into a more comfortable shape, Flynn stretched and fell asleep almost immediately, snoring like a freight train.

He would not have slept half as easily as he did if he knew what was in store for him tomorrow.

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 **Author's Note:** Thanks for reading all the way through! I know this chapter is a little dry, but don't worry - the action starts pretty soon :) Just adding a bit of background to the story. New chapter coming shortly.  
\- Zedek


	3. The Union Aerospace Corporation

****DISCLAIMER:** ** I do not own Doom or any of its characters. Doom is a product of Id software.

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 **3\. The Union Aerospace Corporation**

The Union Aerospace Corporation, also known as the UAC, is now a household name. The UAC is a multi-planetary conglomerate and is a major contractor for the United Nations military force. It mainly focuses on arms and industrial development. It has over 150 processing plants on the Earth and has an estimated net worth of some $1.5 trillion.

Over the last century, the UAC decided to expand its horizons and venture into outer space. The UAC now has radioactive waste disposal facilities on Mars and its two moons, Phobos and Deimos, to combat the ever-increasing problem of nuclear waste. They also created their own army corps to protect its bases from assault – the UAAF, or Union Aerospace Armed Forces. The soldiers were all hardened, battle-scarred veteran Marines. The United Nations were happy to lend them to the UAC.

However, the moons' facilities were also a front for the United Nations' top-secret research projects, as a privilege of being the UAC's largest buyer. For the past four years, the UAC technicians worked on a variety of projects, mostly combat-oriented; including plasma weaponry, phase grenades, cloaking devices, anti-gravity field tech, and the HUD helmets.

They also worked on another experiment, though – one that went wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. What were they trying to do, you ask? They were trying to develop technology capable of inter-dimensional space travel. Portals, if you will, to another dimension, to travel great distances in a split-second. The scientists called them Gateways. The Marines called them Anomalies.

It began as a research trial. A rudimentary portal between Phobos and Deimos was constructed, and a remote-controlled drone was thrown in through the Phobos Gateway. After a moment of tense anticipation, the drone was successfully maneuvered through and it reached the Deimos Gateway intact and apparently unharmed.

This was seen as a great accomplishment and was cause for celebration – there was now a viable, cheap mode of transportation between Phobos and Deimos. But the UAC technicians didn't stop there. They kept on upgrading and improving the portal.

As the technicians worked around the clock to improve the Gateways, they also noticed that the portals were becoming increasingly unstable. Dangerously so. Radiation levels surged and dipped alarmingly around them, and the scientists were forced to wear radiation suits whenever the radiation increased too much. Magnetic instruments also went haywire around them; and one senior technician claimed to hear 'voices' coming from the portal whenever he worked on them, and he threatened to quit if the UAC didn't stop research on the Gateways and shut them down immediately.

The top brass, naturally, loudly declared that the man was a delinquent, that there was nothing wrong with the Gateways, and that they were perfectly safe. Two days later, the technician tendered his resignation and was sent to Earth on the next dropship back. The brass told the UAC to continue with their work.

After ensuring that it was 'safe' through more drone test flights, and after tweaking the Gateways a little more to improve stability, the scientists made a decision that made a lot of people uneasy, not least the Marines stationed on Mars - they decided to send a human volunteer through it.

The military picked the 'volunteer', Sergeant Mallory, a pigheaded and muscular man. After great preparation, the Sergeant was sent through the Gateway on Phobos. Everyone's fingers were crossed. Within seconds, however, he emerged on the other side, on Deimos. The brass was overjoyed, and the Marines were relieved. But that wasn't the end of it. Now that the first human trial was successful, they began sending more and more soldiers through to conduct studies and take analyses of the strange new dimension.

But with every soldier they sent through, the Gateways were, once again, becoming more and more unstable. Most subjects who entered the Gateways had started to return only hours later, catatonic, or disappear altogether. No one had been able to elicit anything about what happened inside from any of them - they just sat in a corner, ashen-faced, or else ran around babbling vulgarities and bludgeoning anything that breathed. And in an extreme and unprecedented case, another subject, Sergeant Caleb, returned in six hours – and then died twenty minutes later. He suffered an untimely death of full-body explosion, and what little remained of his body was sent back to Earth to his sobbing relatives.

The latest military reports at the time stated that the research was suffering a small setback, but everything was under control.

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 **Author's Note:** Here's the latest chapter! It focuses on the history of the UAC. We'll be getting back to Flynn in the next chapter. Sorry for not updating this in a long while - I'll be sure to post new chapters regularly from now on. Please post your reviews and comments - constructive criticism is appreciated!  
\- Zedek


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